


worth waiting for

by Tedda



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:08:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26085436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tedda/pseuds/Tedda
Summary: Patrick isn't prepared for hearing those words. He knew it would happen one day, he just didn't expect Jonny to say it when they're in Berlin, Germany—4,400 miles away from home."Patrick, I love you," Jonny repeats firmly while Patrick's still processing the first time he said it.
Relationships: Patrick Kane/Jonathan Toews
Comments: 20
Kudos: 163





	worth waiting for

**Author's Note:**

> I started this fic before the start of the season, then completely forgot that I wrote it. It feels like it's been ten years since the Global Series but here we are!
> 
> check the end notes for possible warnings!
> 
> thanks to kat for betaing this!

"I love you," Jonny blurts out randomly.

Well, it's not that random, actually. He might not have said it before, but he never had to. Patrick knew ever since they arrived in Chicago and established themselves as franchise players. For every milestone in his life—first NHL goal, first hattrick, first Cup, first Olympics, first condo—Jonny has been there. Chicago, the Hawks, and Jonny are the main constants in his life. No matter what he thinks back to, Jonny's in every memory, always a steady presence in the background.

And he's never been shy about—well, about anything, really. About his commitment to the city and the team, about his feelings towards the guys—Patrick in particular. There are too many moments to list them all. Stolen glances on and off the ice, little touches, some more secret than others, shameless compliments, inside and outside of the locker room. Everything Jonny does is always so genuinely fond that Patrick stopped pretending to miss all those small moments. Like Jonny hasn't always been able to see right through it and notice that he files every gesture and word away for later. For when he's alone in the dark, tucked under the covers of his bed, longing for all the things he'd never let himself have.

So, deep down, Patrick always knew that Jonny would be blunt about it one day. It's already unlike Jonny to stay silent for over ten years.

Patrick isn't prepared for hearing those words. He knew it would happen one day, he just didn't expect Jonny to say it when they're in Berlin, Germany—4,400 miles away from home.

"Patrick, I love you," Jonny repeats firmly while Patrick's still processing the first time he said it. "I've been thinking about kissing you for so long that I can’t even remember when it started. I wish I could. I wish you'd just let me—"

They're lying on Jonny's hotel bed, staring at the ceiling, their shoulders pressed together, and it would be so, so easy to push himself up on his elbow and press a kiss to the corner of Jonny's mouth. Just to see how Jonny would react, even though Patrick already knows. He knows Jonny wouldn't let him get away with just a tiny peck. Jonny would probably cup his cheek and flip them over so he's blanketing Patrick, would press a series of tiny kisses to his lip before deepening the kiss. He'd probably bite into Patrick's lower lip and smile into the kiss until Patrick can feel it, would press his nose against the line of Patrick's neck and tickle him with his breath, and he'd be smiling when Patrick complained about it.

They could fall asleep like that—Patrick in Jonny's arm, Jonny's face tucked into the crook of his shoulder, and he'd get to kiss Jonny in the morning and see the grumpy, adorable frown on his face that he gets when he's jet-lagged. It's late already—they should try and get some sleep.

But Patrick's not going to let Jonny kiss him. They won't sleep in each other's arms, and he won't get to wake up next to Jonny in the morning. It's fine. He's used to the crushing feeling of his own soul shattering into pieces. He's used to pretending it doesn't kill him. As if it doesn't bother him that Jonny's hopeful smile falters whenever Patrick's face gives away that he's going to be ignored and rejected. Again. For the hundredth time.

Jonny's face never closes off, he's too open and honest for that. Patrick loves it—that raw, unapologetic nature, the easy confidence that is one of the thousand reasons why he's so, so into Jonny, but it also means that he has to see every second of the moment where he breaks Jonny's heart. Again.

"Jonny—" he whispers back. "Jon—"

Jonny doesn't say anything back when Patrick trails off helplessly, unsure of what to say. It's never easy to ignore one of Jonny's hints, when their hands unnecessarily brush, when Jonny wraps his arm around Patrick's shoulder and pulls him in, knowing that Patrick will always let himself be hauled into a tight hug. Having to outright say no to his face—to lie and say that he doesn't want Jonny—is pure torture. For a moment, Patrick's sure he's going to throw up.

Jonny doesn't stop him when he moves, a weak attempt to put some distance between them, as if a few inches would do anything to stop them from wanting each other.

"I should—" he swallows, waving his hand through the air. "I'm so sorry but I should go."

"Pat—" Jonny says, softly, his voice almost desperate.

It's worse than anything he could have said. Patrick could handle yelling and swearing and cursing, he could handle accusations and anger, but that tone—so thick and heavy with hope and desperation—is too much. He needs to get into his own room and calm down.

"I'm sorry."

He rolls out of bed, almost tripping over an empty water bottle in the middle of the room. Even now, in the middle of _this_ —whatever it is—he can't bite back an eye-roll or smirk. God, he loves that sloppy, messy asshole so much.

Jonny doesn't react when Patrick grabs his phone and pushes it into his pocket and attempts to leave, but then he gets up. It's one smooth motion, graceful and easy, and Patrick shouldn't be surprised by the quickness with which Jonny moves between him and the door. Why does Jonny have to make it so hard?

"Jon," he tries carefully, focusing on a point on the brown wooden door so he doesn't have to look into Jonny's eyes. "C'mon, let me go."

Jonny shakes his head.

"Let me—please, just let me go." He's begging but god, he needs to leave. He needs to get that image out of his head, Jonny looking so comfortable and soft in his black Hawks sweater. That small moment when Patrick didn't know he'd have to destroy that smile and chase it from his face.

Jonny inhales, shaking his head.

"I'm going to kiss you," he says, surprisingly sure. "Just tell me you don't want me to. Tell me you don't wanna kiss a guy, that you're not into me, that it'll never be that way between us, and I'll let you go and—" Another inhale, this one shakier. "I swear, I won't ever say a thing. We don't have to mention it. We can pretend nothing ever happened. I'll stop the comments and the touches, and you can avoid me if you want. Just—say you don't want me to, and I swear, I won't."

"Jonny—"

"Say it, Patrick," Jonny interrupts, followed by a bitter laugh. His pupils are darker than Patrick's ever seen, a shiny black that fades into the brown color that's framing it. "It's not hard, Pat. Just—"

"I can't, okay?" he bursts out. God, he has no problem lying to his sisters or mom, he even managed to lie to his grandpa relatively easily, but selling a lie to Jonny? Jonny would always be able to see right through it.

Patrick runs a hand through his hair, the curls probably sticking out in all directions, making him look like a maniac. The corner of Jonny's mouth twitches when he follows the movement of Patrick's hand with his eyes.

"You know I can't," Patrick repeats, quieter. "If only things were different—I _am_ into you. And I think we could be that way. Maybe one day."

"One day, eh?" There's an unhappy smile on Jonny's lips. "And when is that day gonna come? When we retire? When your parents have passed away?" Patrick flinches at the harshness in his tone. "When we're 40? 60? 80? It doesn't work that way, Pat. Do you really think that would make you happy? Do you think it's fair to expect me to wait until it’s convenient for you?"

What isn't fair is how right Jonny is—spot on with every single question.

"You know I don't expect you to wait."

It sounds weak, even to his own ears.

"No," Jonny agrees quietly. "But you know you don't have to. You know I'll always wait for you, as long as you haven't outright rejected me."

"There have been other people," Patrick points out because there have been—for both of them. Most of them weren't serious, but there were others, too, and—

"Yeah?" Jonny raises an eyebrow. "You haven't realized that I broke up with every girl when you were single? That I stopped sleeping with other people when you dumped your girlfriends?"

Of course, he noticed. It's been too obvious, too many people in too many years.

"That doesn't mean anything."

"No?" Jonny folds his arms across his chest. "How about you let me decide that?"

Patrick doesn't know what to say to that other than admitting that Jonny's completely right. He's never liked admitting to Jonny that he has a point.

"Let me go," he pleads softly. "You know I can't—"

"No, Patrick, I don't know," Jonny interrupts. "You keep pulling back and—I know you're not really out, I know your family is stricter than mine, I know you're worried about the press and the team, but I don't get it, Pat. You're not happy. And it's not going to get better the longer you wait."

Patrick lets his eyes fall shut and inhales through his nose, a few calming breaths that do nothing to soothe him.

"What if I kissed you?" Jonny asks again, his voice softer. "Would you let me?"

God, he's so, so tired of fighting it. Of trying to look at Jonny and not let all of these tempting thoughts cloud his vision. Of denying himself that one thing that he wants more than anything else.

"I don't know."

There's a shimmer of hope in Jonny's eyes, a tiny spark that fades away too quickly. But he cups Patrick's cheeks, his thumbs swiping along Patrick's cheekbones. His eyes are dark, softness written all over his face. It's like they're both scared of breaking the moment—breathing quietly, barely moving, unable to look away from each other's eyes. It's like Patrick's brain suddenly refuses to consider anything about what would happen after he lets Jonny kiss him. It's been the only thing he could think about these past few years but now—every thought seems to be wiped away from his mind.

"Can I try?" Jonny asks, his fingers teasing along Patrick's hairline. The receding hairline he's still so insecure about. He's gotten better about the chirping, and Jonny of all people doesn't have much ground to stand on when it comes to receding hairlines. Patrick took to wearing caps for a while, but with Jonny, he's never minded the attention on his insecurities.

His hands are shaking as they land on Jonny's biceps. He doesn't recall meaning to put them there, but Jonny's muscles are hard and firm underneath his fingertips, the fabric of his hoodie soft.

Patrick feels himself nod, but he's biting his lip before Jonny can even think about leaning in.

"I'm scared."

Jonny's thumb comes to rest on his lips. Patrick has to stop himself from opening them to let it slip inside his mouth.

"Of me?" Jonny asks, his lips stretching into a teasing grin.

Jonny could hold a knife to Patrick's throat, and he still wouldn't feel threatened.

"Of not being able to stop," he confesses, his voice rough. "I don't think I could. Not once I know what it's like."

"Me too." Jonny brushes his nose along Patrick's, a soft sigh leaving his lips.

It's not the closest they have ever been, even without hockey gear. They've fallen asleep in the same bed several times, but nothing has ever felt as intimate as this. No girl's hand on his dick could ever be as intense—all of Jonny's attention focused on Patrick.

Then he leans in, and Patrick's eyes fall shut without him being able to do anything about it. His hands tighten around Jonny's arms, and he almost holds his breath, inhaling shakily right as Jonny leans in. To Patrick's surprise, he doesn't go for a kiss. Instead, he presses his nose against Patrick's cheek, his arms coming up around his waist to pull him in. It's so easy to let his hands slide to Jonny's neck and hug back.

They stay like that forever. Jonny's grip only gets tighter, comforting, and protective, and probably a little possessive, too. His body is muscular and strong, a solid presence to lean into. Patrick rests his head against Jonny's shoulder and tries not to smile at having to stand on his tiptoes. Jonny's arms feel like home. It's such a familiar feeling—the smell of Jonny's aftershave surrounding him, Jonny's arms around him—but it's so different, too. There's no protective layer of pads and clothing, no one else around them, all the raw emotion pouring out.

"Hey," Jonny whispers, his lips sliding along Patrick's jaw. "I—I just—"

"Yeah," he agrees weakly, and then they're kissing.

Jonny's being a bossy asshole, shuffling so he can push Patrick back against the wall, crowding him with his body so there's no way he could escape. His hands are tight on Patrick's hips, digging into the skin beneath his shirt on the verge of being painful. The solid, hard muscles of his body, his flat chest, and thick thighs are an obvious reminder that Patrick's kissing a guy. He's gentle and rough at the same time, demanding and sweet. This is not just any guy. This is Jonny. His best friend, his teammate, his favorite person in the world. The guy who has the second key to his condo, who's on speed-dial, who invites himself over for a beer or coffee whenever he feels like it, who asks Patrick to come over when he's bored and wants company. The guy who matters more than anything else. The guy he'd take a puck to the head for.

"I love you too," he chokes out, fighting the urge to clap his hand over his mouth. "I love you so much, and I've loved you for so long that it scares me."

Jonny laughs, fond and teasing, pulling back with one last kiss to Patrick's lips. They feel puffy and swollen and—how long has he been clinging to Jonny's neck? How long had they been kissing?

"God, you're so fucking stupid. I can't believe I love you so much." Jonny pauses. "We'll be fine, okay? It's been over ten years. And nothing between us has ever been different, we've always been fine. That's not going to change."

"But how can you know that? There are so many things—what if we realize we're better off as friends? What if you realize you don't really love me, and—"

"Don't," Jonny interrupts, pressing a kiss to his mouth. "Don't act like I haven't shown you how much I love you. You're right—there are reasons for this not to work. But me not loving you? Definitely not one of them."

Jonny was there for every single one of Patrick's decisions. He offered to fly to Buffalo with him for his grandpa's funeral, even though the Hawks would have objected to losing another player in the middle of a road trip. He didn't celebrate his wins with Team Canada, instead choosing to be with Patrick when he was crying over the Olympics or the World Cup. Patrick could recall a billion other times like that—Jonny's always been there without expecting anything in return, no questions asked.

Jonny's breathing hard, like he just played an entire game of hockey— oh fuck. Hockey. They're on a road trip in Europe with the whole team, the season starts in just a few days, they'll be playing tomorrow. This is the worst timing ever.

A hysterical laugh leaves Patrick's throat, and Jonny deserves serious credit for not yelling at him. For not pulling back. If anything, his arms tighten around Patrick's waist, and he lets out a small huff, somehow managing to sound fond.

"Okay," Patrick whispers.

Jonny huffs again. "Okay? That's all you've got to say?"

"For now."

"Okay," Jonny whispers back, teasing. He pulls back, only a little, but Patrick still moves with him instinctively. He was right earlier. Now that they've started, he can't stop. He pushes his hands into the pocket of Jonny's hoodie, helplessly smiling back at Jonny's grin, and leans his forehead against Jonny's chest, inhaling. Jonny's hand slides to his neck, the curve of his hand a comforting touch, the light pressure of his thumb a gentle reminder that he's there.

Patrick exhales.

"Are you going to stay?" Jonny asks after a while. His voice has gone rough, but he doesn't clear it. "Since morning skate got canceled we might have another hour tomorrow to hang out."

"Yeah." Somehow, it's easy to say. Patrick's in too deep now anyways. He wouldn’t be able to make himself turn and leave, and he can't bring himself to care about what that means right now.

Jonny slowly untangles himself from Patrick, but Patrick shuffles closer again, refusing to pull back, and Jonny uses the grip around his shoulders to pull him back onto the mattress again, a smile on his lips.

They kiss for what feels like a long time. Patrick's lips must be numb by now, but every small bite, every kiss from Jonny, even the most gentle breath, makes him shiver and lean back in for more.

"I mean it," Jonny says, not pulling back. "You're so goddamn beautiful. All these years of seeing you every day but not being allowed to touch you—it was killing me. I tried not to let it show."

Patrick's settled on top of him, knees braced on either side of Jonny's hips, but Jonny's arms are so tightly wrapped around his body that he couldn't pull back even if he wanted. Pulling back is not an option, not anymore, but it's still nice to be held like this. It's proof that he's Jonny's—has been for years now.

"Never worked that well," he mutters back, dragging his nose along the line of Jonny's jaw. "I could always tell. You're shit at hiding your feelings, you know?"

He's lying to himself. Jonny's not shit at hiding his feelings. He just doesn't bother with the people he knows and trusts, letting his emotions pour out raw and open. In contrast to Patrick, Jonny's smart enough to know when to keep his guard up. He's good about that, too. His judgment of people is rarely off.

Jonny laughs, letting one hand slip underneath Patrick's shirt, following the line of his spine. The contact of his palm on the bare skin feels hot and tingly.

"Oh, am I?" Jonny presses a mocking kiss to his temple. "I guess you're just way too gorgeous."

The raw affection in Jonny's eyes and voice is too much to handle. Patrick makes a soft noise and presses his face into the crook of Jonny's neck.

"It was so obvious when you were drunk," he finally says, muffled by Jonny's skin. "A few beers in, you'd always be so touchy, would refuse to leave my side. And I'd always—could always let myself have it for one night. I could pretend so easily. I'd tell myself you were too drunk to remember."

Jonny's throat vibrates as he hums. "'m not possessive."

"Nah," Patrick agrees even though Jonny is a bossy, possessive asshole.

"I just don't like people messing with my guys."

All the times when Jonny rushed over on the ice to jump to Patrick's defense—there's been too many instances to keep count.

"As if you could seriously keep someone from messing with me," Patrick teases, earning a huff in response. The kiss Jonny pulls him into is meant to shut him up, and Patrick lets Jonny believe the illusion that he can boss Patrick around without earning any protest.

"Shut up," Jonny whispers eventually, pinching his hip. "Shut up, shut up."

It doesn't hurt, but he still yelps and tries rolling over, the arm Jonny's got wrapped around his waist keeping him in place. The cocky smile on Jonny's lips lets him roll his eyes, but he settles his weight back on Jonny's body and lets himself relax. With his head resting on Jonny's chest, he can hear his heartbeat, steady and strong. Jonny's back to playing with his curls, twisting the strands of hair around his finger, scratching his fingertips over Patrick's scalp. He could fall asleep like this. He might actually get to fall asleep like this.

"What are you smiling at?" Jonny asks, brushing his fingers along Patrick's cheek.

Huh. Patrick hadn't realized he had been smiling, but his cheeks are aching a little.

"You," he says, meaning to sound sappy and mocking, but it's choked-off instead.

Jonny's face softens. "Yeah?"

"Mm," he replies, his throat suddenly dry.

He doesn't realize he's crying until Jonny wipes a tear from his cheek. It's such a gentle touch, such a caring gesture, his eyes so full of emotions.

"Hey—"

"Sorry," Patrick tries saying. but that only makes it worse. God, he's pathetic. When did he turn into a middle-aged woman from the movies? How does Jonny put up with him? Why hasn't he taken off running already?

"It's fine," Jonny mutters into his hair. He tilts his head to press a kiss to Patrick's forehead and cups his neck as if he wants to make sure that Patrick stays where he is, making sure that he's not letting him pull away this time. "You're good."

Patrick bites back a sob, but his face is probably wet enough to mess Jonny's shirt up, and he's already embarrassing himself enough as it is.

"Sorry," he repeats roughly. "I don't know why I'm crying. I'm just—you're—this is so good. But it freaks me out."

"I know," Jonny says, shushing him. "I know. We'll figure it out, it's gonna be fine."

Patrick can't imagine a world in which it would be fine. Maybe a world without the fans and the media, without his family or the team. A world with only him and Jonny, a cozy apartment or a nice house in the suburbs, and no one else around. But Jonny's voice is firm and soothing, so certain and steady. Patrick's not sure if he believes him but he desperately wishes he could. He's trying.

Jonny keeps muttering into his ear, one hand tangled into his curls, and Patrick falls asleep easier than he should, his heart still refusing to find a normal pace.

-

When he wakes up, it's dark and weirdly hot, and he blinks a few times until it hits him—there's a body next to his, a face pressed to his chest, an arm around his waist.

Oh. _Oh_.

Warmth spreads through his body, a weird comfortable feeling, and he's still sleepy enough not to freak out. Somehow, Jonny lost his hoodie, and Patrick only finds naked, smooth skin when he reaches out. Jonny's muscular the way he always is at the start of the season, all thick muscles and tanned skin after a summer at the lake. The skin is warm and soft when Patrick runs his palm along Jonny's back and chest, along his biceps and neck.

After years of rooming with Jonny, Patrick knows how he likes to sleep. Usually, Jonny is all sprawled out, always has an arm or leg sticking out from under the blanket, a leg dangling in the air, or his arm shoved underneath his pillow. Now though, he's curled up, tucked into the curve of Patrick's body even though he's taller. He’s like a human radiator.

After a while, Jonny's head stirs and Patrick stills, his hand coming to rest on Jonny's chest.

He means to apologize—for being a moody asshole, for making it all so complicated, for waking Jonny in the middle of the night—but he's being pulled into a kiss before he can get the words out. Jonny's kisses are a lot slower and lazier now. He throws in soft bites into Patrick's lower lip once in a while, smiling into the kiss, gently framing Patrick's face with his hands, sleep-rumpled and comfortable.

It's too dark to see much, but Patrick doesn't have the strength to turn the lights on. Maybe it's easier this way anyway. Jonny helps him out of the hoodie he's still wearing, sucking one of Patrick's nipples into his mouth. There's no warning, and Patrick almost cries out at the sudden wave of lust, sparks shooting straight to his groin. He can feel Jonny's grin before he pulls back, blowing out a soft breath on the skin that's shiny with spit.

"Figured they'd be sensitive," he mutters, sounding smug. Patrick shivers when he does it again, switching to the other nipple, pressing a featherlight kiss to the sensitive skin. Jonny's voice is rough and thick with sleep and desire, his movements slow but sure.

He helps Patrick out of his sweatpants and boxers, wiggling out of his own briefs, and he takes both their cocks into his big hand once they're lying face to face next to each other again.

Patrick's seen Jonny's cock a billion times—the guy's not only his teammate of over ten years, but also a giant exhibitionist—but it's a little like he's a teenager again, seeing a dick that's not his own for the first time. He doesn't know what to do with his hands, one arm loosely thrown over Jonny's waist, the other awkwardly trapped between their bodies.

But he barely has the chance to move anyways as Jonny starts stroking both of their cocks, fisting them tight enough to create friction. There's enough precome to make it wet and sloppy, and Patrick whimpers when Jonny kisses him again.

"I've been thinking about this so much," Jonny whispers, barely pulling back. "Feels so fucking unreal—"

"Yeah?" A shiver runs down Patrick's spine. "What did you think about, Jonny? Tell me—"

"Oh god, you have no idea." When Jonny pulls back, his eyes are wide and dark, and he brushes his nose along Patrick's, finding a slow rhythm to jerk them off. "Been thinking about your lips so much. You're constantly chewing on your mouthguard and biting your lips and—it's so fucking distracting. Can't wait to feel them on my dick, to see your pretty lips all stretched out."

"Jesus Christ—" His hips buck, fucking his dick into Jonny's hand, and he's desperately biting down on his lip to hold back a moan. For a moment, Patrick closes his eyes, willing himself to take a deep breath. When he looks back up, Jonny's eyes are focused on his lips, and he offers an unapologetic grin, eyes flickering back up to Patrick's eyes.

It's so easy to melt into the side of his body. To tilt his neck and let Jonny kiss the curve of his throat and ear, to let his lips brush along Patrick's ear as he speaks.

"They're always so fucking perky," he mutters, flicking his thumb across one nipple. "'m gonna bite and lick them. I bet you'll love that."

"Jesus Christ—" Patrick repeats weakly. If Jonny keeps this up—

"Been thinking about your dick inside of me," Jonny adds quietly, flicking his thumb across the tip of Patrick's dick.

He's coming before he realizes it. Jonny moans into his ear like the air is punched out of his lungs, and Patrick feels his entire body tremble, his orgasm so sudden and forceful that he's gulping in air.

"Jonny—" he whispers, one hand sliding to his neck. "Jon—"

He exhales deeply, his tense muscles slowly relaxing while Jonny rolls over on his back.

"I can—" he starts, reaching out, but Jonny's already shaking his head.

"Nah, it's fine." He brushes a curl back behind Patrick's ear, and his eyes are glassy, the slapping sounds of his hand as it's sliding along his dick filling the room. "Just— let me look at you."

Yeah, he can do that. Patrick's body is half-covered by the blanket, but he pushes it to the side, shivering at Jonny's appreciative, throaty moan.

Jonny doesn't say anything while he jerks off. He's got his free arm wrapped around Patrick's waist to haul him back in, and Patrick follows instinctively, nuzzling his face into Jonny's chest and neck. He smells like the fancy sandalwood cologne that he sometimes uses, like fresh sheets and like life on the road and home at the same time. In a weird way, home has always been where Jonny is. Right now, Patrick so desperately needs that feeling of being home.

When he bites down on the curve of Jonny's neck, Jonny gasps, lifting his hips, fucking into his tight fist once, twice, and then comes all over his own fingers. Patrick feels every muscle shift in his body, can feel Jonny's shaky exhale when Jonny turns his head and presses a kiss to his jaw.

"Oh fuck," he groans, and Patrick hears his hand fall to the sheets in the dark.

"I love you," he whispers into Jonny's collarbone. Everything he wants is right there—Jonny's all his to touch and to kiss. If he asked, he could probably fuck Jonny in two minutes. If he wanted to be fucked, Jonny would happily obey, no questions asked. Knowing Jonny, if Patrick wanted to get married, he'd agree in a heartbeat. It's always all in with Jonny. Maybe that's one of the things that freaks Patrick out.

He falls asleep again later, tucked into the curve of Jonny's body, to the feeling of Jonny's hand sliding along his naked, sweaty back.

-

Jonny looks gorgeous in the morning, even when he's all sleep-rumpled and tired. After his orgasm, he was all glowy, an adorable kind of happy and content. He rolled over during the night, but his hard-on is still pressed into the curve of Patrick's ass.

The sun is shining so Jonny could wake up any second. Patrick's half-hard and he could wake Jonny up with a blowjob—could wrap his lips around his cock and watch Jonny blink awake with his dick inside of Patrick's mouth.

But they have a team breakfast to attend. He needs to get out of this room without anyone noticing because, of course, this is one of the few times there's no adjoining door between their rooms. His sisters are probably waiting for a reply in the group chat, his dad probably expects a call, and his mom will want to hear about how the city is.

Suddenly, he needs a cold shower more than anything. It'll probably wake Jonny up, but Patrick's phone shows that his usual alarm will go off in ten minutes anyway. So he unplugs Jonny's phone to charge his own instead and jumps into the shower.

There's no need to look in the mirror—he feels the dried cum on his stomach and the sweat all over his body. The cold water hitting his body is a shock at first, yanking him out of his comfortable sleepy state. But he gets used to it quickly and stays in the shower a little too long, scrubbing away all the sweat until he's genuinely scared his lips are already blue.

With a towel wrapped around his waist, he steps back into the bedroom, finding Jonny still in bed and scrolling through his phone. It's an image he's seen a million times—Jonny refusing to get out of bed—and it's so achingly familiar.

"You're awake," he says.

Jonny rolls over and hums. He looks unfairly good, even with his hair all messy.

"I—" It's very unsettling that Jonny doesn't say anything. "I figured I'd get ahead and shower. We'll need to be down in a bit. So—" He waves his arms around, probably looking like a maniac. "If you want to shower—"

"Oh," Jonny says, something in his face closing off. "Sure."

On his way to the bathroom, he has to pass by where Patrick's standing, still only with the towel around his waist, but Jonny doesn't reach out. He doesn't even let his hand brush against Patrick's or anything like that. The door falls shut behind him softly, and Patrick stays where he is until the water starts running a minute later.

He exhales. He could sneak into the room and join Jonny. Wouldn't even have to blow him or jerk him off. It would be nice just to shower together, to trade lazy kisses, and maybe bully Jonny into giving him a massage. But then his phone rings and he instinctively moves to check his texts.

Patrick's dressed in the previous day’s clothes by the time Jonny gets back. There's a weird tension in the room but neither of them knows what to say so they don't speak as they get ready. With every passing second, Patrick's feeling more and more sick.

"Pat—" Jonny says, blocking the door to keep him from leaving. His face is a little softer again. "Patrick, please—"

His eyes fall shut just as Jonny's hands land on his hip, and he moves closer instinctively, relieved to feel Jonny's lips brushing along his forehead.

"Later, yeah?"

It's stupid. Pushing the issue away and postponing the conversation they'll have to have is not going to make it better, but they do need to get downstairs. There's a game in the evening that needs to be played.

For a second, he can feel Jonny's frown, but then Jonny sighs into his hair and nods. "Yeah, okay."

"I slept really well," he whispers, the only kind of confession he can make right now. Maybe it's enough because Jonny smiles when he pulls back and kisses him, short but deep. He has to keep himself from reaching for Jonny's hand when they sneak out of the room.

-

He doesn't exactly avoid Jonny during the day, but they're barely around each other. It must be so fucking obvious, the way Patrick constantly turns to watch Jonny, the way Jonny's sometimes already looking, but no one says a thing.

Being back on Jonny's line for the game is pretty damn amazing. And Jonny scores a beautiful goal—the puck hitting the iron, landing just behind the goal line. Jonny's already looking at Patrick when he skates over, his eyes filled with all those emotions he never bothered to hide. There are teammates around them and 14.000 people watching, Patrick reminds himself. He can't kiss Jonny, no matter how much he might want to.

He assists on Jonny's goal and Nylander's later so the game goes pretty well, but by the end of it, he's looking forward to getting back into the hotel and getting a good night's sleep before their flight. He sits with Shawzy and Saader during the bus ride, part of him dreading getting back, too. Patrick will have to have some kind of talk with Jonny before they play the Flyers and kick off the season.

His phone buzzes with a text from his father, a comment about his backhand pass that assisted on Jonny's goal. It's nothing out of the ordinary, the kind of text that's waiting for him after every game. He loves talking hockey with his dad, loves that his parents watch every game, that everyone is so involved, but now, it's a reminder that everyone has all these expectations and opinions. He can't bring himself to type a reply so he pockets his phone and shifts his attention to the guys next to him.

"It's Chaunette's birthday when we're in Prague," Shawzy says. "I just feel bad about not being there, you know? With her being pregnant. She's sending me tons of pictures and videos of Andy, but it's not the same."

"Oh yeah." Saader nods seriously. "I feel like Teo grows so quickly that I'm missing half his life. I know Alyssa is fine without me, but it's a shitty feeling leaving her all alone."

Maybe they realized he's listening, or maybe his face reflects the knot in his stomach, but they both shut up and give him a funny look, and Shawzy grimacing. "What? Jealous?"

"Of a crying and pooping baby? Never."

"Hey," they both say, and Saader looks very insulted. "Teo does more than pooping and crying."

"Sure, bud." Patrick pats his knee and settles back in his seat. Jonny's somewhere in the front, probably with Brinsky and Stromer or something. It doesn't matter, but Patrick finds himself looking for him anyway. Saader and Shawzy are back to trading baby stories, and he pulls his headphones over his ears and pretends he can't hear the noise of the conversation next to him.

It shouldn't bug him. It's not exactly news that Saader has a baby at home or that Chaunette is pregnant again. And he's happy for them, always has been. But it seems like they're only kids—teenagers breaking into the league. Shawzy still seems like he shouldn't be a dad. Patrick's not even jealous. He loves kids, but he's still not sure if he ever wants to have his own. It's just that everyone around him is getting married and having kids, and he can barely let himself admit that he's been in love with the same guy for years now. Can't even let himself have that one simple thing.

-

He doesn't follow Jonny to his hotel room. They're on the same floor, and Jonny will have no problem inviting himself over later. For now, Patrick enjoys the peaceful quiet as he gets out of his suit. He folds every piece of clothing, rolls up his tie, and sets his alarm. He checks his email and turns his computer off, connects his phone to the charger, and bites back a smile when there's a demanding knock at the door.

There's only one person in the entire universe that could manage to make a simple knock on the door sound that way.

"Hey, Jon," he says softly even before he's got the door open. Jonny laughs, and there's a softness in his eyes that makes Patrick grin. "Nice goal," he repeats when Jonny doesn't say or do anything but lean against the doorframe.

Jonny hums and Patrick moves over on the bed, knowing that Jonny is following him. He sinks into Jonny's arms and sighs, the rest of the tension leaving his body. They should talk. They have to talk.

But Jonny's mouth is right there, so he presses his lips to Jonny’s and deepens the kiss when he hums into it.

"Patrick—" Jonny says when he grabs the hem of Jonny's shirt to help him out of it. He makes a soft noise and dives back in for another kiss.

"Pat—" Jonny tries again, softer, as Patrick hooks his thumbs into the waistband of Jonny's boxers and pulls them off.

"Peeksy—" It's barely audible now, just a hoarse whisper. Jonny's legs fall open, and Patrick's already kneeling between them. He runs his palms along the inside of Jonny's thighs, the skin so impossibly smooth and soft underneath his fingertips.

"We should—" Jonny tries again, but Patrick bends down and licks along the length of his thick, hard cock, and Jonny cuts himself off with a deep moan.

It's not his first time sucking a dick, but it's been so long that he's surprised by the salty taste and freezes for a second, wide-eyed, struggling to breathe through his nose.

A hand slides into his hair, and Jonny lightly tugs until he pulls off, arching an eyebrow up.

"Easy," Jonny whispers, tracing his thumb along Patrick's lower lip.

"I'm not a virgin," he reminds him, nosing along his thick thigh for a second.

Above him, Jonny chuckles, his chest and stomach vibrating. "You should be with that face of yours."

"Yesterday you told me how much time you spent wishing my face was right here."

The teasing kiss he presses to Jonny's cock makes Jonny moan and laugh at the same time. This time, Patrick's prepared for the heavy feeling on his tongue. Jonny's big enough to make him choke without taking him too deep, and every time it happens, Jonny's thighs tremble slightly under his palm. The grip on Patrick's hair tightens, but Jonny never fucks into his mouth or pushes him down, only heaving out deep breaths as Patrick blows him.

"Oh my god, your mouth," he chokes out when Patrick licks around the tip of his cock, his hand stroking along the shaft. "You have no idea how hot you look. Fucking obscene, Pat."

"Been thinking about this, too," he admits, barely pulling off. No fantasy could do this justice though. He missed the feeling of a hard cock stretching his mouth open. The noises leaving Jonny's mouth are making his own dick strain helplessly against the fabric of his boxers. Both of his hands are occupied, but he spreads his legs further so he can move his hips against the sheets, dragging his erection along the mattress to get some friction.

Jonny's cock jumps in his mouth. "Oh, fuck. Stop that or I'm gonna come."

It's desperate and a little broken, and Patrick's heart jumps at the knowledge that he's the one making Jonny sound that way. The guy who always has his composure—who's always in control of the situation, who seems unfazed by whatever is thrown at him—is falling apart under Patrick's hands and mouth.

"Nope," Patrick says softly, rubbing his cheek along Jonny's thigh. There's enough stubble there to make Jonny hiss. "Not gonna stop."

The next roll of his hips is slow and punctuated, and he doesn't bother holding a soft groan back when he does it again.

"Little shit," Jonny says, but it's breathless and unmistakably fond. "Don't come, okay?"

There's a promise in his voice, and Patrick would nod, but he's too busy swallowing Jonny down again. Jonny's breathing hard, chest rising and falling as he gulps in air and exhales deeply, and every exhale is punched-out, accompanied by a high-pitched noise.

"Patrick—" he says warningly, but his dick is already pulsing and Patrick refuses to pull back as hot liquid spurts onto his tongue. He swallows it all, stroking Jonny through his orgasm, kissing his thighs and stomach, his own body shaking.

They stay like that for too long, Patrick's face at Jonny's groin, Jonny catching his breath and stroking his hair, Patrick dry-humping the sheets.

"Come here," Jonny finally says, and his voice is raspy like Patrick's never heard before. Jonny pushes himself up and pulls Patrick in his lap, kissing the corner of his mouth, lightly biting his swollen bottom lip.

His palm is pressed up against Patrick's crotch, rubbing along the length of his dick through his boxers, fingers curling around the shaft, as his other hand slides up to Patrick's chest and over his nipple. It's featherlight, only the back of his hand brushing across each nipple, but Jonny is right, they are sensitive.

Patrick hisses.

"Yeah?" Jonny asks softly. "Like this?"

Patrick nods, lost for words, and he shivers when Jonny lightly pinches one nipple. He pulls Jonny into a kiss just so he has something to do with his mouth, letting Jonny swallow all the embarrassing noises he's making. It's too much. Even through his boxers, Jonny's fingers feel intense on his cock, even more so on his nipples, pinching and tugging and rubbing over the swollen flesh, rolling it between his fingers only to be so fucking gentle a moment later.

Patrick rocks his hips into it and arches his back and comes almost silently. It feels gross, his cum soaked up by his boxers, but Jonny keeps him in his arms and doesn't stop the stimulation until it's too much.

Whimpering, Patrick rolls over.

He vaguely registers that Jonny puts his head on his shoulder, tangles his leg between Patrick's and throws an arm around his waist. There's so much he wants to say and do, but his eyes fall shut and he tells himself to relax for just a moment.

A few moments later, he's asleep.

-

It's like déjà-vu. Waking up in the middle of the night, the room around him dark, curled around Jonny's body. But this time, he has to pee, the front of his boxers are disgustingly sticky and probably smell like jizz.

Jonny's not a light sleeper. He struggles with insomnia, and it takes him hours to fall asleep—but when he finally is asleep, it takes a fucking fire alarm to yank him out of it. Patrick's still relieved to hear light snoring when he gets back from his piss and goes through his bag for new boxers.

It's a peaceful sight—Jonny's arm stretched out, his fingertips touching the warm spot where Patrick was lying just a minute ago, as if he's chasing the sensation of touching Patrick. He wants to crawl back and kiss Jonny's forehead and fall asleep in his arms again, but his phone lights up with a new text, and he's checking it on instinct.

It's Jackie, some random bullshit about her friend's douchebag boyfriend. Nothing that couldn't wait until the morning, but suddenly, he wants to hear her voice so badly. But he can't make phone calls with Jonny sleeping, and he can't discuss any of it when Jonny's right there— asleep or not.

Jonny's sweatpants from yesterday are still on the floor where Patrick tossed them aside in the heat of the moment. When he reaches down, there's nothing in the pockets except Jonny's phone and what Patrick is looking for—his room card. Jonny's pants and hoodie are the first pieces of clothes Patrick can find, so he tosses his dirty boxers to the side and yanks them on. The pants sit dangerously low on his hips but there probably isn't anyone in the hallway anyways. Unless someone is playing a prank. Even without Sharpie—road trips can get dangerous sometimes.

It's easy to find Jonny's room. The door opens on the first try, and Patrick inhales the familiarity of the room. It's a typical Jonny room—a little messy even after just a few days of being here, and he carefully avoids the clothes, magazines, and bottles lying around. The bed is unmade too and uncomfortably cold. When Patrick lies down though, the scent is familiar, and he has to close his eyes and breathe through the sudden wave of emotion.

He came here to call Jackie, not to be a creep. And it's stupid when Jonny himself is in Patrick's own bed—but the pillow smells like Jonny, and he buries his nose in the fabric and breathes. In and out, in and out, until his hand isn't shaking anymore.

It takes forever for her to pick up, and Patrick's about to panic that maybe he miscalculated the time difference, but no, Jackie finally answers although clearly confused that he's awake.

"Isn't it like 2 or 3 over there?"

"Yeah."

"'kay." Jackie pauses, sighing. "So? What's up?"

"Maybe nothing is."

"Suuure," she says, chuckling. "Seriously, Pat. Spill it."

He means to ease into the topic, to give a careful introduction, but it doesn't exactly happen that way.

"I hooked up with Jonny." It comes out so fast that he can barely make the words out himself. He bites his lip and drags a hand through his hair while Jackie is silent for a few seconds. Suddenly, all the Jonny scents around him are more distracting than anything.

"Wait—" Jackie says slowly. "Jonny as in—Jonny Toews? As in, the guy you've been crazy about for years now?"

That sums it up pretty well.

"Holy shit," Jackie says. It's not outright negative—shocked more than anything—but it still hurts. She is right, he has been crazy about Jonny for years and everyone knows that—so a little more enthusiasm would have been nice.

He closes his eyes and inhales.

"Are you guys—" Jackie pauses. "I mean— are you dating now?"

That's an excellent question.

"I'm not sure," he admits. "I'm really happy right now. But it's also—I don't know. It's weird. I'm happy, but I'm not. I'm freaking out, but at the same time I know it's just Jonny, and there's nothing to freak out about."

"Yeah." Jackie sighs. "I mean, we've been over this a billion times. But I guess if you push him away now—"

She doesn't have to finish the sentence for him to get the idea.

"No pressure then," he says, laughing humorlessly. "Fuck."

Jackie makes a soft noise. "I mean, I don't know what you want to hear from me? That he's probably going to make you really happy? That it's gonna be a shitshow if anyone ever finds out?"

Well—at least she thinks Jonny would make him happy. Maybe that's a start.

"If things were different," he says slowly, forcing himself not to press his face into a pillow. "I'd take him in a heartbeat. As long as he's around, I don't think there will ever be another person for me."

"Sounds pretty depressing."

"Yeah."

Jackie hums. "You know, dad is gonna hate it. And mom's gonna be all awkward and worried. But if anyone can put up with our family, it's Jonny. And if there's a guy they'll accept as your boyfriend, it's him. I also think it's time for everyone to realize that you won't always be an NHL player, that your happiness doesn't solely rely on hockey."

That is not what he hoped to be hearing. But she's right. As much as he's not thinking about what's going to come after hockey—his dad might be even more reluctant to consider it.

"And the media?" he asks softly.

Jackie huffs. "Fuck the media. Fuck the fans. You don't owe them anything. You don't owe them being a perfect poster boy for what they think a hockey player is. And neither does Jonny."

It would be a lie to pretend it doesn't feel good to hear that. Patrick closes his eyes and nods to himself. It's not like he forgets that hockey is the one thing he's really, really good at, but sometimes he needs a reminder that being good at hockey doesn't mean he has to conform to what the league, the Hawks, and the fans expect of him.

"Listen," Jackie adds softly. "I can't make that decision for you. But I know how happy he would make you. I know how miserable you've been. I know mom and dad expect all these things from you, even if they'd never say any of it out loud. And I think it's time for you to do what you think is right. You need to stop putting others before yourself."

Maybe, deep down, he's always known it would come down to this. That, in the end, he'll disappoint a lot of people no matter what he does. That maybe he doesn't have to choose between Jonny and his family, but that his choice will make one of those sides unhappy. That maybe his own happiness matters more.

"Thanks," he says quietly, his voice suddenly thick with emotion. " I should get back and— talk some things over."

Jackie laughs softly. "You really should. Say hi to him for me. And call me back once you're done."

"Thanks," he repeats. "I owe you."

"You sure do," she says, and Patrick's still smiling when he hangs up.

But it takes some strength to get up and leave Jonny's room. The scent of Jonny even lingers in the hall, probably from Jonny's hoodie that he's huddled into, and he can't help but take a deep inhale. When he reaches his door, he quietly sneaks into the room, careful not to wake Jonny up but—

He freezes halfway inside.

Jonny's very much awake, staring at the door with wide eyes, hurt written all over his face.

"I thought you left." His voice cracks in the end, and Patrick feels like the biggest asshole in the world.

His heart sinks. "No, no— I just needed—"

"Space?" Jonny fills in for him, anger flashing in his eyes.

"Jon," he pleads softly. "I wasn't—running or getting overwhelmed or anything like that."

Jonny arches one eyebrow and Patrick has to bite back a smile.

"'kay," he admits. "I am overwhelmed. But not running, okay?"

Jonny pushes himself up so he's leaning against the headboard, pulling his legs to his body. He looks impossibly small like this.

"How would I know that?" Jonny asks when Patrick moves over to sit on the bed. "I just wake up in the middle of the night, and you're gone, and I have no idea where you are."

"I just needed a second to myself." Jonny's close, he could easily reach out and rest his hand on Jonny's knee, but he doesn't dare. "I talked to Jackie. And I guess— we should talk?"

"Did Jackie say that?" Jonny snaps, but the tension in his muscles loosens a little. Patrick finally finds the courage to run his fingers along Jonny's naked calf and press a kiss to his knee.

"Yeah—I mean, I knew that before but she made it pretty clear."

"We always knew you're not the smartest Kane child," Jonny says teasingly. It's fair. Patrick still snorts in response.

"So—" He tilts his head, swallowing. "Can we talk?"

Jonny moves over so he can lean against the headboard as well, and Patrick tries very hard not to concentrate on the fact that Jonny's still naked, only the blanket covering his crotch.

"Fine," Jonny says softly. "Talk. I'm listening."

Patrick's never been a great talker. He's always been better with gestures than big speeches and love declarations.

"I love you," is what he comes up with. "And I'm really scared of losing you."

"Pat," Jonny says quietly. He reaches out to smooth his hand through Patrick's hair and presses a kiss to his head.

"I know I've been an asshole for years," he adds. "And— I have no idea why you put up with it. I don't deserve it. But I fucking love you for it. So if you still want to—still want me—then I wanna try. I'm sick of pretending I could ever not love you. Sick of letting others dictate my life."

Jonny's face literally lights up. His eyes soften, and he kisses Patrick again as if it's the first time, lips stretched into a soft smile.

"Of course I want you," he says, brushing his nose along Patrick's cheek. "Jesus, I want you so much."

"A lot of it is gonna suck," Patrick whispers because he can't stop reminding himself. "The press, the fans, all the attention—"

"We'll figure it out."

"And the guys and the locker room," he carries on, unimpressed. "We could fuck up the team, the whole locker room chemistry and—"

"Patrick—" Jonny interrupts with that tone that suggests that Patrick's being stupid. "Pat, we'll figure it out, okay?" He sighs. "C'mon. We've been stupid about each other for god knows how long. I've probably done a poor job of not letting my feelings show. You sure as hell did. If that hasn't fucked the team up, then nothing will. I know you. And I trust you. It's going to work out because it's us, but even if it didn't—we'd be fine."

"You promise?"

It's childish and stupid. Jonny can't promise any of that, but he nods, and Patrick breathes out softly. Jonny moves over to kiss him then, slow and deep, using the strings of the hoodie he's wearing to pull Patrick in. For a moment, he sucks on Patrick's bottom lip, his free hand tangled into his curls to keep him close. It's so, so good. Patrick crawls into his lap, smiling at how Jonny has to tip his head back to keep kissing him.

Jonny's cock is getting interested again—he can feel it press into his hip, slowly fattening up—but Jonny doesn't do anything to deepen the kiss or take care of it, so Patrick doesn't roll his hips either. This is more than enough, being close, feeling Jonny's warm, soft skin against his. Having that feeling of being held and secure. That, for now, it's only them.

"Hey, you gotta promise me one more thing," he whispers, cupping Jonny's face with his hands to make sure that Jonny can't turn away. "You can't— don't be mad at my family. My dad's going to have a few things to say, and I know— I know it's not going to be what I want to hear."

Jonny huffs. "You can't expect me to stand back and do nothing when he can't accept that you're living your life on your own terms."

"It's my father, Jon. Of course it sucks. But he's saying what he thinks is right for me. He's not doing it to make it difficult for me. He's doing it because he cares about me. All I want is for everyone to get along. He can say his part, but let him talk. I don't care anymore."

"Yeah?" Jonny asks, hopeful. Patrick's heart seems to stop for a second, his chest tight and heavy. Jonny's voice is full of years of history between them.

"Yeah," he whispers back, putting as much strength into the word as possible. "I'm not ashamed. It's never been about that. They would never care about me bringing home a guy if it wasn't for hockey. They'll deal with it once they accept that I'm not—" He huffs. "Spending another ten years hoping it turns out to be only a crush. Wasting all that time, hoping I'm going to fall in love with a perfect girl that has nothing to do with hockey. They won't approve, they'll think I'm making it hard for myself, that I'm going to make myself miserable. But they'll get there. They'll see that you're making me happy. I just don't want us to fight over it. Don't want you to fight with them."

His entire family loves Jonny, everyone has gotten along well with Jonny's family. And he's scared shitless that it's going to stop. Starting this, they're going to change more dynamics than the one in the locker room and around the team.

"I know it's a lot to ask," he adds. "I know you shouldn't have to put up with any of it. But please— don't make it more difficult for them. Or for yourself."

"It _is_ a lot to ask," Jonny says slowly, his voice still gentle. "But I want you to be fine. It's so much already. I don't want to add to the thousands of reasons why it's gonna be difficult. So I'm not saying I get it. I'm not saying I agree. But it's your family and your choice so— I'm not sure if standing by and not saying something is my strong suit—" He looks sheepish at that and Patrick laughs, his own chuckle filling the room. "But I'll try."

"It isn't," he answers, brushing his nose over Jonny's. "But I appreciate it."

Jonny hums and tips his head back to nuzzle his face into the spot between Patrick's collarbone and neck. His breath is hot and ticklish, enough to make Patrick squirm, but it's too good to pull back so he laughs breathlessly and lets his head fall back.

"I love you so much," Jonny mutters into his skin. "And I am so fucking happy. I know it won't be easy but it's so hard to care about that right now."

When it's just them—wrapped up into his comfortable, peaceful bubble, trading lazy kisses and running their hands over each other's bodies—it's hard to remember why he couldn't let himself have this for so long. It feels so fucking stupid—ten years wasted like it's nothing. Ten years of making them wait.

They spend all night trading lazy kisses, tucked into the curve of each other's body, chatting about nothing in particular. After ten years they should have already talked about everything there is to talk about, but Jonny tells him about summer barbeques during the off-season, casually stroking his hand along Patrick's spine, and it's so overwhelmingly nice. They shouldn't be awake, not when they're still a little jetlagged with a flight to catch, but Patrick couldn't sleep if he tried.

**Author's Note:**

> In the beginning Jonny demands Patrick to tell him that he isn't into Jonny or he won't let him leave the hotel room, and Jonny claims he's going to kiss him if Patrick doesn't tell him not to. Patrick is never pressured into anything but I wanted to put a warning just in case :)
> 
> you can find me on [ tumblr ](https://blackhawksuniverse.tumblr.com/)!


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